It's January / and I'm alone again...
These lines by the Danish poet Michael Strunge always comes to mind this time of the year. It's kind of hopeful, the days get brighter, but still it's only January, spring is far away. But as for being alone that doesn't bother me, that's kind of inspiring if you ask me.
Now there you go, I've analysed this line of poetry and squeezed out all the poetic feeling of it. So to compensate I'm going to publish another poem, a work of my own. It's a borderline piece, bordering on the parodic as well as the fantastic. You choose where the emphasis lies.
I hit the sack in my four-poster bed
with a four-leaf clover under my head.
Then I trail off into lands unseen
with a clarkashtonesque, jewelry sheen...
There I dance with a heavenly sprite
on a flowery meadow lush, green and bright.
Starry-eyed I sail over ground
to a secret pool where I can’t be found.
I dive in the water, I’m finding a stone,
a crystalline object, an emerald throne.
I sit on the throne like a submarine king
and I’m falling asleep as the fish start to sing.
The next thing I know, I’m awake in my bed
with an emerald gem lying under my head.
The four-leaf clover has somehow been changed
into a precious stone – am I deranged...?
Or maybe it’s so, that what we see in our dreams
is more than meets the eye, more than it seems?
Good Cop, Mad Cop
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Pic Åke Ehrenberg